


Bombastic, fantastic thanksgiving

by ThePinkFizz



Category: Jacksepticeye (YouTuber RPF), Markiplier (Youtuber RPF), Video Blogging (RPF)
Genre: Bottom!Jack, Copious amounts of pet names, Happy Thanksgiving, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut, So much smut, Table Sex, Top!Mark, inappropriate use of gravy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 17:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePinkFizz/pseuds/ThePinkFizz
Summary: Everybody likes thanksgiving, right? The Macy’s parade, the football, the time with family, and of course the food. But for Mark, the most delicious thing in the room isn’t turkey or pumpkin pie, it’s Jack.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Wow, twenty stories already? Woohoo!! I know that it’s *after* thanksgiving, but that’s not going to stop me!! I hope all of you had a great holiday (I know Mark and Jack are going to have a good time haha!!) and hope you enjoy this story!! I love coming up with crazy new ideas for you guys to read :D As always, if you like this story, please leave kudos and a comment!! And away we go!!

Jack looked like a hot mess. His hair was disheveled as he pushed it back with the heel of his hand, scrambling for plates from the cupboard. The oven timer let off an obnoxious ding, nearly sending the Irishman out of his skin. Jack sighed, grumpy. He bent over to check the internal temperature of the turkey, not noticing Mark behind him.

A sly grin twitched at the edges of the American’s lips as he leaned against the doorframe. Jack was bent over in front of the oven, and his ass in those jeans, Mark could have cried. That man was curvier than JLo. Mark bit the top of his thumb, admiring his beau. He felt a slight tug in the pit of his gut, heat building in his thighs. He pulled at his slacks, stepping into the kitchen.

Jack twisted to look over his shoulder, a disgusted expression befalling his normally gleeful features.

_“Ugh. And where have you been, you bugger?”_

“Oh, come on, Jackaboy. Can’t stay mad at me forever.”

Jack laughed in the back of his throat, grabbing the bowl of mashed potatoes off the counter, sauntering into the adjoining dining space.

_“I assure you, I can.”_

Mark groaned, looping his arms around Jack’s waist when he returned, brushing his cheek against the Irishman’s.

“I bet I can change your mind.”

He rocked his hips forward, rubbing the strain against his thigh on the back of Jack’s denims. Jack swatted him.

_“There'll be none of this hanky-panky, you shite.”_

Mark grabbed a handful of the hem of Jack’s sweater. _That_ sweater. He twisted the charcoal fabric over in his hand. His lips found their way onto the other’s neck, sucking and biting. He heard a small little moan escape Jack. Jack never could resist that.

_“No. Uh-uh no! No!”_

Jack pulled back, pushing Mark.

_“No, sir! I won’t be seduced by that mouth of yours.”_

Jack cocked his head a moment, as if second-guessing what he had just said. He shook his head, slapping Mark upside the head.

_“I have shit to do while you take your sweet arse time. What were you doing in there, playing with yourself?”_

“Is that one of your fantasies or something?”

Jack shot the American a horribly dirty death glare out from underneath his eyebrows. He continued out of the kitchen with a dish of salad that he had grabbed.

_“I hate you.”_

“No, you don’t! You loooovvvve me!”

The Irishman turned to see Mark resting his face on his shoulder. The paddy narrowed his eyes, slapping Mark’s cheek with the palm of his hand.

_“Bleedin’ tick. I swear, you’re like a boil on my arse or somethin’!”_

Jack went back into the kitchen, feeling Mark tap his shoulder. He smacked the American on the head with a potholder.

“What’s with all of the abuse!?”

Mark feigned incompetence. He watched Jack purse his lips.

“You’re certainly a spiteful mick.”

Jack’s brows shot up, then furrowed to together.

_“Asshole!”_

Jack shot back, clearly offended by the comment. He spun around, viciously mashing yams. He felt Mark’s hands creep up his back, his voice purring.

“Oh, c’mon, Jack. You know I didn’t mean that. You just get me all…”

He bit on Jack’s pierced lobe.

“Hot and bothered.”

Mark pulled on the sleeve of Jack’s sweater, turning him around, running his hands up Jack’s back. The other sighed loudly, circling his arms around Mark’s neck, letting the American devour his mouth. Mark lifted his wee shamrock up onto the countertop, nipping at the corners of his mouth.

_“Wanna make it up to me?”_

Jack’s voice had tumbled a few octaves, surprisingly deeper. It sent heat straight to the American’s loins. Mark twisted around, carrying Jack blindly out of the kitchen until he felt the backs of the Irish’s knees hit the table.

Jack went down first, the meal forgotten as wine glasses tipped over with the force of Jack’s weight hitting the slab, smashing on the floor. Mark straddled Jack’s waist, a hand in his hair, yanking at his sweater. Mark’s lips went back to Jack’s neck, rougher this time, mixed with the scratch from his beard that drove the latter mad.

Jack pulled his arms up around his head, knocking off plates, the two hardly concerned with the state of their dinnerware. Chica came running at the sound of the noise, but swiftly retreated when she saw Mark on Jack.

Mark rocked his hips down, the swell in his jeans obviously noticeable. Jack moaned again, his hands in Mark’s hair.

“Jack…”

His voice was deeper, piercing.

“I can’t wait any longer…”

Mark never did have any patience when he wanted something. And he wanted Jack. Now.

Off came the Irishman’s sweater, tanned hands running over the expanse of milky white skin. Jack’s hand went back over his head, not realizing that the mashed potatoes were right in his path. He brought his hand back, watching Mark lick the thick, fluffy substance from his digits. Mark smirked when he felt a pulse of want from between Jack’s legs.

Jack ripped off Mark’s shirt, pulling himself up, kissing the junction between the American’s neck and shoulder. He drew Mark’s earlobe into his mouth, biting at the cartilage. Mark moaned, his hand tightening over Jack’s shoulder blade. He reached his hand down, popping the fly on Jack’s jeans. He drew his hand back up the Irishman’s abdomen, running over the slight dip of his navel, and the curve of his pec.

Jack let Mark dominate him, getting pushed back against the table, the Californian looming above him. Jack’s breaths were closer together, the blue of his eyes blown back by lust. Mark grabbed him firmly by the neck, pulling him back up for a heated kiss. Jack’s fingers worked the closure on Mark’s jeans open. The American threw him back down, Jack bracing the fall with his elbows. Whatever flatware that remained on the table gave off a metallic shudder.

Mark pulled Jack’s denims and boxers down around his knees, watching the way the latter’s dick bounced and curled against his pasty skin. Jack mewled for some contact, but Mark refused. He surpassed the other’s pulsing need, claiming his mouth instead. Mark let Jack slide his pants down his thighs, grabbing his ass tightly.

That got a response from the American, whose cock twitched at the sudden roughness of the Irishman. They couldn’t wait any longer, this had been enough foreplay. Mark’s eyes scanned the table quickly before he dove the pointer and middle fingers on his right hand into the bowl of gravy.

Jack’s hand clenched and unclenched as he felt Mark’s fingers plunge into his tight heat.

_”Fuckin’ Christ, Mark…”_

Jack squirmed.

_“That’s hot!”_

“I know,”

Mark smirked.

_“No!”_

Jack yelped.

_“Like actually hot!”_

Mark retracted his fingers, looking concerned at his baby.

“Are you ok?”

Jack nodded his mop of green curls vigorously against the tabletop. Mark replaced his fingers, stretching Jack’s walls. The other moaned, arching his neck back, his toes curling into the glossed tabletop.

_“Mhmm…ah…Mark…moo…Markimoo…baby…”_

Mark licked his lips, watching Jack come undone with just the feel of his fingers. They almost always went hard and fast. Mark traded his crooked fingers for the head of his hardened cock, easing into Jack, anchoring himself with a hand at each of Jack’s hips.

Jack bayed, the silverware clanking as he beat down his fists, spewing a string of curses. Mark slid almost all the way out, driving back with double the force. Jack dug his fingertips into the flesh of the American’s back. His breath faltered.

Mark’s kisses at Jack’s mouth were sloppy and wet, his actions lust-driven, intensified by want. Mark rocked back, then forward, Jack’s entire body trembling. The Irishman’s fingers clenched tightly in two-tone hair, red hair that was plastered to California sun-kissed skin. Mark’s teeth were bared, he sucked a breath in through his nose.

_“Jesus…”_

Mark was thrusting in strongly, Jack’s body jumping. He took Jack’s hands and pulled them up his body from the patch of hair below his navel up through his hair. Jack let out an exasperated cry, feeling Mark get him at just the right angle.

_“Oh god…Mark…Mark!”_

Mark let out a deep grunt,

“how much longer you got babe?”

_“Not long…”_

The noises Jack emitted were unexplainable.

_“I can’t…”_

He breathed.

_“I can’t…Mark!!!”_

His body arched up against Mark, covering the American with more than just mashed potatoes. Jack lifted his hips at the sounds Mark was making. He had heard those noises dozens of times before, knowing of their meanings. He tightened his grip in Mark’s hair, biting firmly at his shoulder, then the protruding muscles of the Californian’s neck.

_“C’mon…”_

Jack urged. He felt Mark’s chest heave against his before the American was coming with Jack’s name on his lips.

Jack thudded back down against the table, the air leaving his lungs. He tried catching his breath, arms pushing shards of broken plates out of the way. Mark eased himself down next to the Irishman, pulling the latter into his arms.

“Happy thanksgiving.”

Jack shoved a handful of mashed potatoes into Mark’s mouth. He snickered.

_“Happy thanksgiving love.”_

 

 

 

 


End file.
